


Stumbled Into Faith

by orphan_account



Series: Chao's Kink Bingo [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, Peter being a grade-A creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Peter Hale offered Stiles the bite, he declined.</p><p>The second time, he didn’t.  But he didn’t exactly consent, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumbled Into Faith

**Author's Note:**

> For Sam, who I hope realizes this makes my 'father' status rather creepy
> 
> Title comes from 'Blue Lips' by Regina Spektor

The first time Peter Hale offered Stiles the bite, he declined.

The second time, he didn’t. But he didn’t exactly consent, either.

After the travesty that was investigating Matt with his father and Scott, Stiles tried to book it before Ms. McCall or his father could corner him and demand explanations. But he was still weak, and so he ended up just stumbling, feet threatening to give out from under him with every step. His instinct had been to look for his best friend and, when there was no trace of him, Derek, but apparently they’d both forgotten about the human and left him. Stiles was alone with Matt and the Kamina and the Argents and, worst of all, their parents, because his problems didn’t rank high enough to get back-up.

So, okay, maybe Stiles’d been a little bitter. But it had been an emotional night, okay? First that freaky as hell hallucination of his father at Lydia’s party, and now this. So if he coped with finding himself suddenly defenseless by blaming the people who were supposed to be here with him, well, he thought he maybe had a right.

Of course, none of that anger made him any less prepared when he suddenly came face to face with Peter Hale.

Stiles had thought it was a hallucination, actually. He’d laughed in Peter’s face, strung to the breaking point from his day, and it was only shock (and, as he learned later, lingering weakness from the ritual to come back) that kept him from being killed. Then he’d asked, voice sharp and mocking, if Peter was here to offer him The Bite again. The man had nodded, eyes confused but still so sharp, so focused, that Stiles had to laugh again. Really, this was just what he needed. The perfect way to end the evening. 

And so, high on adrenaline and impulsiveness and sheer bravado, backed by the knowledge that Peter Hale was _dead_ and that this was just another way for his brain to screw with him, Stiles had just grinned and told him to ‘do your worst.’ After all, he couldn’t be turned by some stupid mirage, could he?

Then Peter bit him, on the wrist like he had wanted to the first time. Then again, higher up on the shoulder. Then one more time, right over the heart.

And when the burning started and Stiles’ vision blurred from pain and weakness, he started to realize that maybe it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

But before the panic could really set it, he felt the odd sensation of strong arms picking him up, and then darkness.

When Stiles woke next, it took him a long time to realize where he was. His limbs felt awkward and heavy and achy, like they did after a high fever, and for a second he expected to be in his bed at home, curled under too many blankets, with a glass of water and some pills left beside him by his father.

Instead, he could smell dirt and forest and ash and wood and moon and _too much_. Taking in a deep breath out of startled panic, he jolted into a sitting position, staring in dull incomprehension at the inside of the former Hale house.

Nearby - just a few feet away, which was both far too close and too far away - Peter Hale sat on the floor, staring at him with something like compassion and a whole lot of satisfaction. “You took it better than most.” He told him, voice nearly _proud_ , and Stiles wanted to dig his claws into the man’s face.

But at the same time he didn’t. Part of him, a part that was new and feral and way too close to the surface, wanted to grin and to move closer and to bask in that approval.

Stiles wished it made him more sick, but he couldn’t. It was too fundamental. Too close to the moon. Instead, it was just how it was.

Peter didn’t even bother to speak, instead just motioning for Stiles to come closer. And he shouldn’t have. He should have gotten up and run out the door, have run for his life, for the pack he wanted to be in.

But it was all too raw and new. Plus, it was like Peter had been practicing since the time with Scott in the school, because Stiles didn’t know how he was even supposed to begin to fight this. Not when all three of his bites _ached_ when he so much as hesitated. And so he stumbled to his feet, wavering and blinking away headrush, and then took the few fumbling steps closer to Peter. To his Alpha.

Snagging his wrist, Peter tugged him down, the movement sharp but far gentler than Stiles knew he was capable of. Even if he’d had a mind to resist, there was no way he could physically take that, and so he simply went limp, letting Peter drag him into his lap.

The part of his brain that was still human, sluggish though it was, twisted in disgust. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Was he some kind of pedo, out for Stiles’ sweet, sweet teen ass? It would be just his luck, for him to be SOL on people his own age group, but to be a fucking delicacy for middle age wolf-men.

But the part of him that was more wolf than were felt soothed by the contact. Warmed. His aches and pains seemed to become less important the more time he spent here. And so Stiles snuggled in, both against and by his own will, and spared a moment to regret the life choices that lead up to this.

The longer he stayed here, letting his Alpha run soothing hands along his arms and legs and back, the harder it was for the human portion of him to object. If anything, it seemed to be getting quieter. Weaker. Like it was falling asleep. To be fair, all of him was kind of falling asleep. It all felt good and lazy and hazed, and Stiles nuzzled sleepily against Peter’s chin. The fond chuckle that earned him only made him feel more like he was falling asleep, and Stiles was _tired_ , from the bite and from the stress and from his life, and so it was easy to just bask in that sensation and not think for once.

Stiles had no idea how long he stayed there, simply floating with Peter as his anchor, when suddenly there was a crash and new smells and noise and he had to blink himself into the real world. Scott was there, panting and wolfed out, eyes glowing bright amber as he _glared_ at the pair of them. Wait, no, not at Stiles. Just Peter. That really wasn’t better.

A second later Derek charged in behind him, his eyes the red of an Alpha and furious, and Stiles had no choice but to try and squirm closer to his own Alpha, driven by instinct to bring their numbers together to improve defense.

When had Derek become someone to defend against? In the really-tear-your-throat-out way, instead of the vague grumpy irritation he normally wielded?

Once the worst of the initial impulse faded, Stiles gave a whine and tried to move closer to Scott, because it was _Scott_. They were brothers in all the ways that mattered, and now they were both wolves and Stiles wanted to curl around him and enjoy this together. But Scott’s expression was only startled and pained, and Peter’s hand pressed down to the bite over his heart and Stiles stilled, will completely overcome.

There were words now, demands to let Stiles go and _what have you done?_ and sad, angry tones. Scott and Derek both smelled bad, sharp from their emotions (rageconfusionhurtfrustrationenvy), but Peter was calm and confident and that tasted so much better, especially when the man tilted his jaw for Stiles to mouth and lick and nuzzle, which he did. The bad smells only got stronger, sharper, almost pained, and he flinched away from them because it was too much, far too soon.

When he finally turned his attention back to them, Scott’s eyes were on him now, tracing up his arm and across his chest. There was a flash of human embarrassment, because the bites were still vivid and ugly and bright, even if they weren’t bleeding anymore. Turning, Scott asked in a low whisper why there were so many.

Derek answered slowly, darkly, like he didn’t want to acknowledge it, that it was a way of controlling a person. Of claiming them. It was ownership.

Smirking, Peter gave a little chuckle than meant they were right, and pressed his hand to the bite over Stiles’ heart again. This time it felt _good_ , because his Alpha was happy with how he was, and that sent sparks of warm pleasure through him. Helpless against that, Stiles moaned softly and went even limper, his weight pressed trustingly into Peter’s chest.

Scott made a noise like he’d been slapped and then growled, taking a threatening step forward. But Derek stopped him, snagging hold of his upper arm and keeping him from attacking. They couldn’t, not with Stiles caught up like he was and in the way. Despite the reasonable (if rough) tone, Derek’s emotions were possibly sharper than Scott’s, and Stiles flinched away from them both with a whimper.

That must have done it for them, because with a last set of threats and words of ‘comfort’ to Stiles (why would he want to be taken away from here? The human in him screamed, but that wasn’t important), they slipped out. Soon, their immediate scents faded, and Stiles glanced up at Peter’s face, carefully avoiding his eyes in submission, and wondered why he wasn’t going after them.

(He was still too weak, as it turned out later. Peter had the strength to function and to look like he was fine, but keeping Stiles so completely under his thrall was his limit.)

Instead, Peter gave a pleased rumble and nipped at the shell of Stiles’ ear, and the approval and heat in the gesture were enough to make him moan again, this time a little stronger. Smirking at the noises he was making, the man untangled Stiles from his lap, ignoring how his shoulders slumped in disappointment, and spread him out on the floor. Grasping both wrists in one hand, Peter held them over the teenager’s head. “You can’t move these.” He told him, voice heavy with command that felt like the reverberations of a hammer on metal in Stiles’ head. Sure enough, it was like they had been shackled or glued there, and he was unable to so much as moves his fingers.

The absolute control his Alpha had over him made Stiles shiver and whimper, and Peter’s smirk grew wider.

Once Peter had repeated the same thing with each of Stiles’ ankles, spreading him wider than he would have been able to handle as a human, the man leaned over him. His eyes were red and bright and almost gleeful as he raked his gaze over every inch of Stiles’ naked flesh, from his averted eyes to his bound feet. Then he opened his mouth and ducked his head to lick at Stiles’ shoulder wound.

It _hurt_. It burned and it ached and it made Stiles howl out in pain for a moment, before one of Peter’s hands came to casually rest over his mouth, cutting off his voice. But it faded quickly as the wound started to stitch itself up, faster than any Alpha wound should be able to. And once the initial pain faded, it was just comforting and nice, and Stiles tried to squirm up into it as best he could. Which was of course when Peter moved on to the next one.

Once all three were finished, Peter didn’t stop. Instead he used his hands and tongue and mouth to meticulously cover every inch of Stiles’ skin available to him. In short order, Stiles smelled of his Alpha all over, marked _his_ in every way.

And if Peter maybe spent a lot of enough at Stiles’ nipples and his cock - enough that he found release all over his stomach - then that was just another way of proving that his Alpha owned him completely.

Stiles couldn’t think, but he especially couldn’t think of anything better than that.

_(And a few days later, he’d be thinking the same thing as Isaac and Erica held back his desperate struggles, smelling startled and afraid and sad for him, as Scott and Derek and Boyd teamed up against his Peter, his Alpha. Stiles was too young and inexperienced to be able to fight off two Betas, and neither of them gave into his words about how could they just sit there and not help, are you that useless that you’d only be in the way?_

_At the end, Peter was still too weak, from coming back and from keeping Stiles constantly under his power. Had Lydia been there, had Isaac and Erica not been holding back his own beta, he might have stood a chance. Instead, he fell again, ended by Derek’s claws for a second time._

_Then Derek came to Stiles, gathering him up and getting his scent on him, marking him as a new part of his pack. And Stiles was furious, was sick with the pain of losing his Alpha, nearly mindless from it, but he clung back, because Derek was the closest thing to Peter Hale left in the entire world. And when he cried, he let them think they were of relief, and not of pain. Maybe that would come later, but for now Stiles was just a slave ripped permanently from his master, and he wasn’t sure there was any coming back from that.)_


End file.
